"Thirty-nine fairy wings, a pint of dragon's blood, three ounces of dragon liver, two jars of eel eyes, five bicorn horns, a bottle of beetle eyes, a vial of Mortella rat tentacle extract..." Snape read slowly, glancing down at the parchment in his hand. "Ah, and a bucket of horned toads."
"Just to remind you—I picked up that bucket of toads one by one," Anthony said sarcastically.
Snape nodded stiffly. "Yes, and then I spent three times as long cleaning that bucket. The horned toads, once dipped in Mortella rat tentacle extract, became highly toxic and corrosive. It nullified all other potion effects."
"Ah. Right," Anthony replied, then turned to smile at Dumbledore. The Headmaster returned the smile calmly.
A few minutes earlier, Snape had stormed into the Headmaster's office, with a hesitant Anthony trailing behind. Dumbledore had been writing a letter when the door opened. He looked up and offered his usual warm smile—only for Snape to immediately slap a piece of parchment onto the desk and push it toward him.
"Here it is, Headmaster," Snape said curtly. "A detailed list of the damage Professor Anthony has caused."
Ignoring the chair Dumbledore had summoned for him, Snape chose to stand and read from the nineteen-inch-long parchment. Between ingredient names, he interjected their prices and the rarity of each item, often commenting on how difficult it was to assign a monetary value to some of the rarer components.
Meanwhile, Anthony sat silently in the chair, absently squeezing the Lemon Olaf sweet that Dumbledore had handed him. Occasionally, he shook his head and loudly objected, but most of the time, he simply listened to Snape's lecture on potion ingredients and their losses.
The silver instruments in the office whirred softly around them. Fawkes stood atop the cabinet, holding the Sorting Hat gently in his talons and tilting his head to inspect it. The phoenix's feathers looked fuller than the last time Anthony had seen them—its red hue even deeper. He stared at the phoenix for a while until Fawkes turned away, seemingly annoyed, and began pecking at the Sorting Hat's worn brim.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Dumbledore said kindly. "I've heard your version, Severus. Now, I'd like to hear Henry's."
Snape's face darkened, and he replied with forced politeness, "Of course, since my testimony is apparently no longer sufficient." He even bowed slightly in mocking deference.
"Severus," Dumbledore said—half sigh, half warning.
"Well..." Anthony began, "I imagine whatever Professor Snape told you must be at least partly true. So yes—the result is, I smashed his hourglass and destroyed the potion ingredients."
Snape looked triumphant. "You see, Headmaster? He admits it."
"I'm surprised, Henry," Dumbledore said gently. "But there are other parts of the story. For example, that you were grumpy, arrogant, dictating Severus's research, and casually wasting his potions with a few careless words..."
Anthony shook his head silently.
"...and that you deliberately destroyed valuable potion ingredients and refused to apologize."
"Ah, about that," Anthony said calmly. "That part's true, sir."
Dumbledore looked at him with interest, the tips of his long fingers pressed together. Snape finally dragged a chair closer and sat down.
"And what justification do you have for yourself?" Dumbledore asked, eyes focused on Anthony.
"Well..." Anthony began, "you may be aware that Professor Snape is not particularly skilled at... interpersonal harmony. He has a remarkable talent for irritating others."
He pointedly avoided looking at Snape.
"He said something that made me extremely angry," Anthony emphasized.
Dumbledore glanced at Snape, but remained silent.
Anthony continued, "I won't apologize for what happened unless he apologizes first—for what he said. I admit this was a significant loss and waste, but considering I managed to control myself this time—"
Snape sneered. "You almost succeeded in controlling yourself. You've made progress."
"What did you say, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, his tone sharpening.
Snape paused, then under Dumbledore's stern gaze, replied dryly, "I asked him why he hadn't thought of resurrecting his grandfather."
Dumbledore turned to Anthony, his voice quiet but firm. "Is that true, Henry?"
"Part of it," Anthony said, taking a deep breath. "I'll explain. My grandfather came up in conversation, and then—then Snape accused me of being pretentious for remembering him. His argument was that I didn't even think of resurrecting him. I asked him to stop, because by that point I already had some… warning signs—but he didn't realize I was warning him..."
Dumbledore interrupted gently, "That's enough, Henry. Severus, is that true?"
Snape must have nodded, for Dumbledore's expression shifted into one of clear disapproval.
"Severus," Dumbledore said, "I believe you owe Henry an apology."
"Oh, really? Because I asked a question?" Snape replied coldly. "Oh my, a necromancer at Hogwarts—whose closest companions are cats, mice, and chickens. Not a single human. I'm surprised no one's thought to raise an eyebrow. It's not like I asked, 'Did you kill your grandfather?' or 'Are your family's skeletons hidden in a cupboard in your office…'"
"You call that a question?" Anthony repeated, his voice oddly calm.
Snape fell silent.
"If that counts as questioning, Snape, then I truly pity anyone you've ever interrogated." Anthony's voice was clear, steady now. "What did you say?—'It's just pretentious,' 'Dear Grandfather, I'm sorry, your bones have been eaten by wild dogs…'"
He stopped himself and took another deep breath, suddenly feeling exhausted. Maybe he shouldn't have come to Hogwarts today. Maybe he shouldn't have come to Hogwarts at all.
He could feel Dumbledore's gaze on him across the desk, but he didn't meet it. Instead, he stared at the faint trails of white smoke rising from one of the silver instruments on the table.
The windows in the Headmaster's office were tightly closed. The smoke hung in the air like mist, drifting gently.
For a moment, Anthony could hear his own breathing more clearly than anything else—even more than the silence between Dumbledore and Snape.
"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, his tone heavy, "I'm… disappointed."
Snape sat motionless in his chair, his face pale.
Then Dumbledore turned back to Anthony. "I'm sorry, Henry. Truly—I am very sorry."
Anthony shook his head. "It's not your fault, sir."
"I'd like to speak with Severus alone, if that's alright," Dumbledore said gently, placing a large handful of assorted sweets on Anthony's lap.
Anthony offered a quiet thanks, swept the sweets into his pocket without ceremony, and stood up, pushing back his chair.
As he turned, Dumbledore said softly, "If you wish to return home, Henry, I'll understand completely. But if you're still willing to join me for afternoon tea—"
"I will," Anthony promised. "I'll feed the giant squid by the Black Lake first."
"Grateful," Dumbledore said warmly.
Anthony sat by the edge of the Black Lake, gazing at the water, suddenly feeling rather foolish.
He'd forgotten to bring bread.
But he didn't want to get up again. It was still the holidays, and only a few professors remained at Hogwarts. From experience, he knew they'd all be inside the castle at this hour. No one would come to the lake.
His skeletal cat was probably trying to pry the cork off a wine bottle again. And if it was already the second bottle, the wraith chicken would soon swoop in to peck its head. They'd fight until the wraith rat's apple got knocked to the floor.
The lake's waves lapped gently against the rocks along the shore.
Anthony tossed a stone into the water and remembered something his Muggle Studies teacher had once said about gravity.
She'd told them that tides came not from whales rolling over, but from the moon, the sun—and gravity.
He threw another stone, watching it arc through the air and land with a splash.
The Giant Squid, seemingly drawn by the disturbance, rose lazily to the surface, stretching one long tentacle out across the water.
"I was worried I wouldn't find you, Henry."
Anthony stuffed the roundest stone he could find into the giant squid's outstretched tentacle—it was wet and cold to the touch—then quickly stood up.
"Professor Dumbledore…"
Dumbledore halted any formal greeting with a quiet glance. "I must apologize to you, Henry. I deliberately involved Severus in this matter, but I did not foresee it having such… an impact."
Anthony let out a vague snort, not quite sure what "such an impact" was supposed to mean.
Even if Dumbledore did feel guilty, Anthony couldn't imagine the Headmaster being particularly concerned over seventeen hundred Galleons' worth of potion ingredients. Unless, of course, Dumbledore was about to reveal that Hogwarts was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy—then perhaps suggest that Anthony resign and stop allocating so much research funding to Snape.
"He will never interfere in your research again without your express consent," Dumbledore said seriously. "And if you're willing to place your trust in me again, Henry, I will personally oversee the process—whether it involves the ritual's details or the curses employed.
"You don't need to return to his office anymore. We can find somewhere more comfortable for you… I'm quite skilled at Apparition, after all."
As Dumbledore calmly listed each concession, Anthony grew increasingly bewildered.
He had expected Dumbledore to perhaps make Snape apologize. He was even willing to accept half the blame for the damage.
Considering he hadn't thrown glass bottles at Snape—or vice versa—the potion materials had been destroyed solely by his own hand. He'd even been a bit anxious that Dumbledore might insist on splitting the losses evenly between them.
But now, Dumbledore was behaving as though Snape had screamed at him and tried to strangle him with the shed skin of an African tree snake.
"However," Dumbledore added, "I'm afraid we'll still need his assistance in replicating unicorn blood. I'm no Potions Master, Henry—and I suspect you aren't one either."
Brilliant. Snape must have actually strangled him.
...
"I… I don't understand," Anthony muttered, briefly wondering how one might strangle someone who didn't need to breathe.
Dumbledore smiled faintly, as if reading his thoughts. The two of them began walking slowly back toward the castle.
"By the way," Dumbledore asked lightly, "the kitchens… or somewhere else?"
"Sorry—what?"
"The kitchens, or somewhere else?" Dumbledore repeated patiently. "It's tea time, Henry."
"Would you like to come to my office?" Anthony offered. "I should still have at least four boxes of coconut sorbet."
Dumbledore smiled. "That sounds delightful."
...
Anthony pushed the teacup toward Dumbledore. Only then did it strike him how strange it felt to have the Headmaster sitting in his office—as a guest, no less. The sight made everything feel just a little more surreal.
"You're covering the cost of all the potion ingredients?" Anthony asked. "But—"
"Because I put you and Severus in the same room to begin with," Dumbledore replied, still smiling. "Of course, it's my responsibility. I should have foreseen the outcome."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I still don't really understand how things escalated the way they did," Anthony said, taking a sip of his tea.
It was an herbal blend, a gift from Professor Sprout. It had been sitting in the cupboard a while, and wasn't nearly as good as the kind they brewed in the staff lounge during term. Snape, of course, had always refused to drink herbal tea, clutching his plain black tea with a frown while others praised Sprout's latest infusion.
"Because I know Severus," Dumbledore said simply, as if that explained everything.
Anthony found himself thinking back to Snape's question. Setting aside the venom and accusation in his tone, Anthony had to admit—there was a kernel of truth buried in it.
"I have thought about it," Anthony said suddenly, before he could stop himself. "Before I ever became a necromancer, I used to wonder what it would be like… if they could come back. They were good people. They deserved more time."
"Like most Muggles, I used to think—if I could just turn back time, I could go back to childhood. If I found a magic lamp, I could wish to see them again. If I had magic, I could speak to them—one more time."
Dumbledore's teacup clinked softly against its saucer as he lowered it, surprised. He set it gently back on the table.
"Do you know what a Ouija board is?" Anthony asked. "I tried one. I walked into a shop once and told the man at the counter I wanted to play with one. The rules say it can't be used alone, but I figured—who else would my grandparents want to talk to, if not me?"
"And?"
"The table didn't move at all," Anthony said. "Maybe they were busy on the other side—at a party, or something. Maybe they just couldn't hear me. Or maybe I just bought a tray with some strange markings and convinced myself it could talk to the dead."
Dumbledore didn't reply.
"I turned the pointer to 'Goodbye.'" Anthony smiled faintly. "It felt like hanging up on a call that never connected. I tried a few more times, but it was always the same. Maybe my hands were too steady. I told myself that one day, I'd visit the other side myself—and then I'd know the truth."
"But you came back," Dumbledore said softly.
"Yes. Because Death loves me—or because it hates me." Anthony's voice was tired. "I came this close—" he held his fingers apart just a sliver "—to actually dying. But that day, Death must've decided to play golf and batted me back into the world with one lazy swing."
"Golf…" Dumbledore echoed thoughtfully.
"No, that's just a metaphor. Forget it. I don't really know what happened, but I came back—not a ghost, not an Inferius."
He exhaled. "Back to the question: before I knew what death really was, I used to imagine what it might be like. Because I was selfish. I thought I'd feel better if they were still with me. I needed them. Not the other way around."
He went quiet for a moment, his thoughts drifting. Dumbledore waited, patient as ever.
"But I don't feel that way anymore," Anthony said at last, lifting his teacup. The tea had gone cold.
He caught Dumbledore's slight raised eyebrow and smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not about to lecture you on what lies behind the Veil. Remember? 'Don't blow out your candles before your birthday.'"